


Through All These Years

by ButterflyDreamz



Category: Metallica
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Gay Chicken, Heavy Drinking, M/M, Partying, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Smut, Touring, idk i'll add more tags as i go, story that spans across a long time period
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:49:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21580846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyDreamz/pseuds/ButterflyDreamz
Summary: Kirk helps Lars figure something out about himself, but doing so complicates their relationship.
Relationships: Kirk Hammett/Lars Ulrich
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41





	1. February 1984

**Author's Note:**

> To give credit where credit is due, there's one dumb joke in this fic which is heavily inspired by a joke from last podcast on the left. Bonus points if you can spot it. Also, big thanks to my beta reader ❤

Kirk carefully stepped over the random guy passed out on the kitchen floor to get to the beer on the counter. It was that kind of night. Instead of feeling a part of the loud, drunken chaos in the next room, it mostly made him aware of how much he wasn’t on the same level, having spent most of the party tucked away getting stoned.

He heard clumsy footsteps behind him, followed by an arm slinging over his shoulder so carelessly it knocked him a little off balance. “What’cha doing,” Lars slurred. Lars was way more wasted than Kirk. He’d been like this every time they were drinking recently. The fact they were celebrating the completion of their first show supporting Venom in Europe only added to it.

“I’m getting another beer,” Kirk replied.

“Where’ve you been, man? You should come hang with us.”

“I’ve been getting high with Mantas and Cronos in the garage.”

“You mean Jeff and Conrad,” Lars playfully interrupted.

Kirk laughed more than was really warranted. He'd been doing that a lot tonight. “Yeah. I was about to head back out there.”

As much as they respected Venom, they couldn’t deny that ‘Jeff, Tony, and Conrad’ sounded more like the names of a bowling team than a metal band. It was a joke between them he hoped wouldn’t ever get back the band kind enough to bring them on tour.

“You suck,” Lars said half-heartedly as his arm fell away and Kirk turned around, beer in hand.

“I’ll be back later. Try to not miss me too much.”

“Pfft.” Lars grabbed another beer he definitely didn’t need and returned to the lounge room where the party was still raging.

A while later, Kirk emerged from the detached garage. He figured he should see what everyone else was doing. He’d lost track of time in there.

Grim Reaper’s Now or Never grew louder the closer he got to the main house until he could practically feel the music pulsing through his body as he stepped into the lounge room. He saw Lars on the couch with his hand on some guy’s thigh and a small audience gathered around watching them.

“Your turn,” Lars said to the man.

The man placed an awkward hand on the small of Lars’s back.

After a short pause Lars slid his hand up near the top of the man’s thigh, never once breaking eye contact.

Kirk tried to understand what he was looking at but came up empty. He was way too high for this.

The moment dragged on until the man lost his nerve and pulled back. “Fuck this. You win.”

“Two rounds? You seriously chicken out after two rounds?” Lars held out his hand.

The man begrudgingly handed over 10 Swiss francs. “Whatever.”

“ _What_ is going on?” Kirk said, finally making his presence known as he made his way to the couch.

“They were playing gay chicken,” Cliff explained, sticking his head out from the other side of the couch.

“What?”

“It’s like playing regular chicken but you take turns doing gay shit to each other,” said the man Lars just played against, in his heavy Swiss accent. “The first to chicken out loses.”

“Kirk!” Lars said, as if he just noticed he was there. “You’re playing now. I know _you_ won’t wimp out after two rounds.” Before Kirk could answer or think about what he meant by that, Lars addressed the rest of the room. “Let’s make the stakes higher. Whoever loses has to clean all this—” he gestured broadly at the mess of bottles, cups, broken glass and cigarette butts. “—all by themselves tomorrow.”

Kirk wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, especially not with all these people watching. But he felt sorry for Lars, considering how much more hungover than Kirk he would be tomorrow. And he knew it’d be Lars cleaning this trash-heap in the morning, not him.

Kirk had no hang-ups about gay stuff since he’d fooled around with guys a few times before. He’d have no reason to chicken out. Lars might flirt with guys in a jokey way, but he probably wouldn’t know what to do if one seriously reciprocated.

Lars moved so he was sitting next to him. “I’ll go first,” he said as he put his hand on Kirk’s thigh.

Rather than copy him, Kirk leaned in closer and brushed Lars’s hair away from his face and let his hand come down to cup his cheek, stroking it with his thumb. He figured treating him so preciously might get under his skin more than going straight for his dick would. Kirk watched him with a smug smile, expecting him to recoil at least a little bit.

With a determined look in his eyes, Lars moved his hand to the top of Kirk’s thigh, fingertips just at the edge of his crotch.

Unphased, Kirk let his thumb graze against Lars’s lips, clumsily parting them as his hand drifted down his chest. Seeing an opportunity, he pinched Lars’s nipple through the arm hole of his baggy tank top. This made their audience laugh. The look on Lars’s face as he tweaked it made him pretty sure he had the upper hand.

Lars quickly shifted his hand onto Kirk’s crotch.

“Oh my god,” a random guy in a Venom shirt commented, probably as he realised that Kirk wasn’t tapping out and this would have to go even further.

Lars looked like he was expecting to win any second.

“You think I’m gonna give up over this?” Kirk said.” You’ve done it to me as a joke so much I’m immune, dude. Accept defeat.”

“Fuck no.” He clumsily threw his leg over Kirk’s lap and straddled him. For the first time, Kirk felt unsure of just how far Lars would go to win. Their audience laughed again and Kirk suddenly felt very conscious of how many people were watching. The problem with chicken was that if neither of you back down, you both lose: two cars crashing into each other because nobody wanted to be the coward who swerved away; two guys making everyone at a party think they’re gay because they were both so goddamn sure the other was gonna crack first.

They needed to end this soon.

Kirk pulled Lars’s face in so close he could practically taste the bourbon on his breath. “Are you gonna give up?”

Lars licked a stripe up the middle of his face, making Kirk grimace. “What do _you_ think?”

“Ew! What the fuck,” Abaddon said through his laughter from his spot on the floor.

“Are _you_ gonna give up?” Lars asked, leaning in closer, if that was even possible anymore.

“…No,” Kirk replied unsurely.

“Oh yeah?”

Lars closed the distance between their lips and had his tongue in Kirk’s mouth before he could even process what was happening. Kirk kissed back instinctively, the room spinning as he closed his eyes.

He was keenly aware of how watched they were, and how people were bound to talk about this afterwards. But he was also caught up in how good kissing Lars felt. It took him by surprise, momentarily making him forget they were playing a game.

Fuck. The game. He had to escalate or give up, quick. He put his hands on Lars’s hips—which felt less like a move designed to win and more like what he would do if they were making out under different circumstances. That might’ve been a mistake, but it was too late to think about how it must look to everyone now.

Kirk was used to rumours he liked men. He exercised discretion when he hooked up with guys because it was just easier that way, but at the end of the day people were gonna believe what they wanted to about him, and it wasn’t his job to care.

Lars on the other hand… He had no idea what Lars felt about all this, or why rather than kissing like he was trying to gross him out, Lars kissed like he meant it.

Then Lars pressed their crotches together and Kirk knew why.

Kirk’s heart pounded in his chest. He opened his eyes and saw people whispering to each other as Lars slowly grinded against him. Lars moaned into his mouth so softly that nobody else would’ve heard it. He hoped.

“You win, I give up!” Kirk blurted out as he pushed Lars’s shoulders back and broke the kiss.

Lars stared back at him with wide, uneasy eyes, like he’d abruptly woken from whatever dream he was in. He opened his mouth to speak but looked like the words got stuck in his throat.

“That was the gayest thing I’ve seen in my life,” said the man Lars had initially played against who’d been sitting next to them the entire time.

“Fuck off. Just because you didn’t have the balls to win—” Lars snatched the bourbon bottle from him and swigged from it straight rather than continue what he was saying. Lars climbed off Kirk’s lap and sat back down, strategically hiding his hard-on. Kirk was glad he stopped things when he did, or he’d have been in the same situation himself.

“Have fun cleaning tomorrow,” said Peter—Abaddon’s friend and the owner of the house. “I’m gonna sleep in nice and late.”

“Thanks, I will,” Kirk deadpanned. Compared to everything else swirling around his head, the prospect of cleaning up the party trash felt insignificant.

Kirk lit a cigarette and tried to chill out, but the energy in the room felt different. He was so stoned he couldn’t tell if it was all in his head or not. He needed some fresh air.

He excused himself and stepped out onto the porch, leaning against the railing. The night air in Zurich was so much colder than back home.

After a few minutes Cliff joined him. Kirk waited for him to say something about what just happened, but he never did. Maybe whatever desire passed between Kirk and Lars hadn’t been as noticeable as he thought it had. Or maybe Cliff just knew Kirk wouldn’t want to talk about it.

Either way, he was thankful. Something about listening to Cliff talk about normal stuff like what Kirk missed while he was in the garage brought him back down to earth, even if he zoned out a little. What occurred between him and Lars was still a lot to think about, but there wasn’t much use trying to process it tonight. It was better to let that be sober Kirk’s problem.

He was relieved to learn that James left the party early to go to some girl’s house nearby. He didn’t know how James would react to him making out with Lars in front of everyone, but he doubted he’d handle it with as much grace as Cliff did.

"I wonder what's going on in there," Cliff said, referring to the loud argument they could hear coming from inside. They both stopped talking to try and catch what it was about but the shouts were drowned out by the music. Then one voice rose above it, sending Kirk and Cliff rushing inside as they realised it belonged to Lars.

“What the fuck are you talking about? You’re delusional!”

“I fucking heard you!”

“We weren’t even talking about you! Will you get that through your thick head?”

Upon entering the lounge room, they saw Lars shove a man and shout, “I’m not a fucking dumbass. Why don’t you be a man and own up to it?” The man stumbled backwards into his friend.

“Touch me again and you’ll regret it, pal. I’m warning you.”

“What’s going on here?” Cliff interrupted, putting his hand on Lars’s shoulder.

“He was talking shit about me,” Lars said.

“He _really_ wasn’t,” said a frustrated redhead woman standing next to the man Lars was arguing with. “He whispered a dumb joke about my brother to me and Lars became convinced it was _him_ we were laughing at. Can you like, get him to bed? I think he’s had enough to drink.”

“He’s got issues,” the man said with a smug laugh.

Lars lunged at him, but Kirk and Cliff managed to restrain him just before his fist collided with the man’s face.

“We’re sorry about him,” Kirk said uncomfortably. “He’s just really wasted.”

The man’s jaw clenched tight in a scowl, but after a moment he conceded. “Just keep him the fuck away from me.” He turned to leave and sternly added, “If he tries that shit again, I’ll knock his teeth out.” His friends followed him out of the room.

“Why’d you apologise to him? He’s an asshole.” Lars sounded more whiny than argumentative now that he was gone.

“I know,” Kirk said sympathetically. “But he’s not worth it. You’ll thank us when you don’t wake up with a black eye tomorrow.”

“Who says I’d be the one getting the black eye?”

Neither of them said anything to that, but Cliff told him to come with them and they led him to a room where he could sleep off the booze. Surprisingly, Lars let them. Someone had already passed out in the spare-room bed, so Cliff went to ask Peter for any extra bedding while Kirk waited with Lars. Lars gracelessly plonked himself on the floor, leaning against a wall with his knees pulled in near his chest. Kirk joined him.

Lars looked completely out of it, hair messily hanging in his face as he stared at the floor. Kirk felt like he should say something to smooth things over between them, but the words never came and he settled for silence instead. Maybe it was for the best.

Then, in a small voice Lars said, “I’m sorry, Kirk.”

At first Kirk thought he was apologising for almost getting in a fistfight, but it was clear from the way Lars wouldn’t even look him in the eyes that it wasn’t that.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kirk said. But saying that didn't change the fact that Lars was clearly troubled. It was written all over his face. There were questions Kirk wanted to ask him, but he didn’t dare.

Lars brought his eyes off the floor and hesitantly began, “Do you think—” He stopped when Cliff re-appeared in the doorway with a bundled-up blanket and pillow in his arms. Kirk could kick him for his bad timing.

“ ‘Fraid this is all he’s got,” Cliff said as he gave Lars a thin mohair blanket and an old pillow lacking a case.

Lars shrugged and wrapped himself in the blanket. “We’ve had worse.”

“You gonna be alright?” Cliff asked.

“Mhm,” Lars said as he laid down and got comfortable.

“We’re gonna go back out there, but we’ll be in later to sleep,” Cliff said. “ ‘Night, man.”

“G’night.”

Kirk followed Cliff as he left the room, but when he got to the doorway he stopped and let Cliff walk ahead.

“Hey Lars…”

He half opened his eyes. “Yeah?”

“What were you going to say before Cliff walked in?”

Lars paused. “You know, I don’t even remember anymore. Wasn’t anything important.”

“Oh, ok…” Kirk replied, strangely unsatisfied. “Anyway, I guess I’ll let you sleep. See ya tomorrow.”

“Yup. See ya.”

Kirk closed the door behind him and caught up to Cliff.

Less than an hour later, Kirk was ready for sleep himself and stumbled his way back to the spare room. Lars was fast asleep by then, curled tightly into himself as he’d kicked the blanket halfway off in his sleep.

An odd sense of affection unfurled inside Kirk as he looked at his sleeping face. He looked so small all curled up like that.

…God. Kirk must be more wasted than he thought.

Nonetheless, he gently pulled the blanket back over Lars's shoulders before curling up on his own empty bit of floor and passing out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am almost a year later with chapter 2 lol. Massive thanks to my beta reader for this chapter 💖✨💖

If Lars carried on like there was nothing to talk about, then there was nothing to talk about. That’s how Kirk saw it. In the days following the party everything was the same as it always had been except for some teasing from the Venom guys, and James when he first found out what happened.

They were just joking around; it didn’t bother Kirk too much. Lars either laughed it off or shot back with jokes of his own. Nothing about how Lars reacted gave the impression it bothered him, but Kirk still wondered if deep down it did. It was hard to shake the image of Lars that night in the spare room of Abaddon’s friend’s house, so unsure of himself that he could barely face him. It was clear from what happened that Lars wasn’t one hundred percent straight, but it was also clear he wasn’t totally comfortable with that fact.

Kirk wished he could help, but it didn’t feel like any of his business, not unless Lars wanted it to be. So Kirk filed the events of that night away in the back of his mind, which wasn’t hard given the fact they were in Europe for the first time ever with so many things to see and do. The only time the memory of making out with Lars intruded into his thoughts was when he was jerking off—which was less than ideal. In the fog of arousal, the thought of what it might have been like if things had gone further was tempting, but he didn’t indulge it, even in fantasy. It felt like that would be crossing a line he dared not cross. Lars was his friend and bandmate, and he would need to be able to look him in the eye for many years to come.

**Late February, 1984**

Having finished touring with Venom, the band made their way to Sweet Silence studios in Copenhagen to record their second album. Money was tight and their future was busy, which meant having less than a month to record despite half the songs still being in an embryonic stage. It also meant getting an over-the-phone lecture or two from a frantic Johnny Zazula, their long-suffering manager, about how quickly they were burning through their Europe tour money.

Wanting to heed his advice, but never wanting to deprive themselves, a week into recording they stocked up on the cheapest, nastiest liquor money could buy and went to drink by the edge of the Nyhavn canal.

The canal was lined with centuries-old buildings that had been repurposed and painted in all colours of the rainbow. Their vibrant silhouettes danced on the water’s surface, which was otherwise dull and grey from the thick blanket of clouds above them. Everything looked more old-fashioned than back home, like a picture out of an old story-book.

Lars said he wished they could see his hometown in summer instead. As the icy wind seeped through Kirk’s clothes and numbed his fingertips, he couldn’t help but agree. Despite the weather, it was nice to watch the sailboats and water-taxis full of tourists go by as they drank and talked shit and enjoyed the last few hours before their nightshift at the studio began.

They had to pace themselves since they had a whole night’s work ahead of them, but Kirk drank a little faster than everyone else due to the freedom (and perhaps boredom) of knowing he didn’t have any parts to record that night.

James seemed like his mind was still in the studio, more focused on whatever he was writing on his tattered bit of paper than on any fun the rest of them were having.

“Take a look to the sky just before you die, It’s the last time you will,” James mumble-sung to himself, following the words with his pen. “Blackened roar, da da da fills the crumbling sky…” He crossed something out and scribbled new words beneath it.

“Can I see what you’re working on?” Kirk asked. It sounded like the beginnings of a new song.

James nodded and leaned across Lars to hand Kirk two ratty pieces of paper that threatened to flutter away in the wind. Kirk thought he had them, but as James let go, one of the papers went flying and Kirk realised he’d only gripped one of them--the one that had considerably less writing on it.. James helplessly watched his lyrics fall seven feet into the water below. The look on his face was enough that Kirk was already imagining the outburst coming his way.

“Don’t worry,” Kirk quickly reassured, holding his hands up defensively before James snapped at him. “I’ll get it.”

The paper landed close to the wall but a bit further down. There was a flat, wooden frame built along the steep drop they sat at the edge of. It’d be easy enough to climb down to the water’s surface. Maybe the alcohol was inflating his confidence in that regard, but it wasn’t as if he had a better option. Lyrics didn’t always come easy and he’d hate to be responsible for setting the band back like this.

“It’s gonna be fucked anyway. The ink will run everywhere,” James grumbled as Kirk awkwardly lowered a leg over the edge.

“So you _don’t_ want me to get it?”

“Didn’t say that.”

Kirk wasn’t particularly co-ordinated as he climbed down the frame. It wasn’t as easy to hold onto as he thought it would be. Just before his feet reached the horizontal plank closest to the water, he lost his grip and almost fell backwards. Luckily, he caught himself. Laughter came down from above and he looked up to see his bandmate’s faces watching eagerly over the edge.

“You can do it! I believe in you!” Lars said with a dumb smirk before taking another swig from his bottle, stray drops falling right on Kirk’s face. Kirk flipped them off and continued.

The lyric sheet was luckily still floating on the water’s surface, but it was drifting left and soon would be unreachable—or unreadable. He had to work fast. Kirk clumsily shuffled towards it, using the vertical columns of the frame for balance.

“Almost got it!” Cliff encouraged as Kirk crouched low and reached one of his arms out toward the soggy paper. It was _just_ out of his grasp. He leaned his entire body towards it, his arm straining to keep hold of the vertical beam he was gripping, his feet slipping underneath him. If only his fingers were that _little_ bit longer…

With a loud splash he fell into the freezing canal, shoes and all. When he got his head above water he could hear laughter raining down on him again.

“Holy shit,” Cliff said through barely suppressed giggles at Kirk’s expense.

“Get it! Get it!” James shouted, pointing to the paper floating just to the left of him.

Kirk picked up the paper as delicately as possible, letting it drape limply over his open palm as he did a one-handed paddle back to the wall. He was very aware of the fact that one careless move could tear it in half. The ink had blurred but was still legible, kind of. He hung it over his shoulder as he climbed back up, gritting his teeth from the freezing wind buffeting his soaking wet body. His denim felt like it weighed twice as much as it did on the way down.

“See? It’s fine,” Kirk said optimistically as he reached the top and laid the wet paper down beside James. The look on his James’s face said he might not agree.

James didn’t say anything, he just turned his one good, dry piece of paper over to its blank side and tried to copy whatever words he could still make out or remember. Everyone gathered around, offering guesses for what the more illegible parts might say.

“Gone inside from the pants that they barely know?” Cliff read aloud unsurely. “Nah, I got no fucking idea, man.”

“Gone insane from the pain that they surely know,” James corrected, writing it down. At least their dumb guesses could jog his memory sometimes. 

Most of what was on the original paper was salvaged, largely thanks to James’s memory. But parts of it were too blurry and ambiguous to reveal anything helpful. James growled in frustration as he wracked his brain for the missing words.

“We can dry it out with a fan if we get back to the studio. It’ll be easier to read when it isn’t wet,” Lars suggested, already on his feet. He shoved James’s shoulder. “We’re not getting anywhere here. Come on.”

While the others gathered up their things, Kirk shook the excess water out of his shoes and debated whether to take his jacket off. Exposing his arms to the winter wind was in no way appealing, but his jacket was cold and heavy from getting wet. He reluctantly took it off and wrapped his arms around himself, shivering.

“You alright, Kirk?” Lars asked after a minute or so of walking.

“Yeah. Let’s just hurry back,” he replied through chattering teeth.

Lars looked unsatisfied with that answer and turned to James. “James, you should give him your jacket.”

“What? No.”

“Give him your fucking jacket, man. He fell in the canal to save _your_ lyrics.”

“He was the reason they were there in the first place!”

“Always so ungrateful.”

It was funny to Kirk how with all the time James and Lars had spent together they’d fallen into arguing like an old married couple. Lars knew just the buttons to push to get his way, and in moments like these Kirk was grateful for that.

James grumbled and protested, but eventually peeled off his jacket and threw it at Kirk. Kirk said a quiet “Thank you” to Lars as he put it on and felt a tiny glimmer of warmth return to his body.

When their record producer Flemming Ramussen answered the door to the studio his eyes went straight to Kirk, who was still soaked like a drowned rat. “What happened to you? Do I even want to know?”

“I fell in the canal,” he said sheepishly as he walked past him into the long-awaited warmth of the studio.

“Seriously?” Flemming said amusedly.

“He dropped James’s lyrics and had to fish them out,” Lars elaborated.

“Did they survive?”

“We’ll see,” James replied, laying the damp paper out on the nearest table.

“On the bright side, at least now one of you has bathed,” Flemming quipped.

“Shut up. I showered like, yesterday,” Lars said defensively. None of them showered yesterday and they all knew it, but to be fair, it wasn’t easy to keep perfect hygiene when they were basically squatting in the recording studio. They all just looked at Lars until he corrected himself. “Ok, fine. Maybe it’s been longer than that. Whatever. I always lose track of time in this place.”

“It’ll do that to you,” Flemming mused, looking over the wet paper on the table as James set up a fan to dry it out. Kirk took that moment to duck out of the room to change out of his wet clothes.

“Before you go—” Flemming called out, stopping Kirk in his tracks. “you should let me take a picture.”

“Why?” Kirk asked warily.

Flemming shrugged. “’Cause it’s funny? It’ll be like a souvenir of your little swim in the Nyhavn.” He beckoned the band together with a gesturing hand. “Everyone, come in close.” They did as they were told as he got his camera from his desk and lined up the shot.

“Don’t just stand there, do something!” he ordered.

Cliff contorted his face into a goofy expression while James held up his middle finger at the camera. Lars slung an arm around Kirk and Kirk pulled him in closer without thinking.

Alcohol tended to make him physically affectionate. Lars was the same way. They’d always had few physical boundaries with each other and it showed in the photos they’d taken together in the past. However, as Kirk felt the warmth of Lars’s body against him and long, fluffy hair bristling his cheek, he realised this was the closest they’d been since they kissed, and the thought of that made him feel funny; not bad-funny, just… something.

“Kirk, can you get that weird look off your face?” Flemming said.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry,” he stammered. Lars was looking at him, but as soon as they made eye contact Lars looked away and made a face at the camera. Kirk did the same.

“Ok. Three, two, one.” The camera snapped a few times while Flemming got his shot, then he gave a thumbs up and went to put his camera away.

Lars lingered and Kirk made no move to break from his grasp, because he didn’t particularly want to. It felt nice to have the warmth of Lars’s body after shivering the whole way back to the studio. It felt even better that after weeks of avoiding physical closeness with him, Lars wasn’t pulling away the first chance he got. It was a relief that they could go back to normal. It made Kirk feel happier than he would have expected.

“I guess we better get to work,” Lars finally said. “And _you_ need to get changed.” Lars’s face felt so much closer now that they were looking right at each other. It inevitably reminded Kirk of…

“Yeah,” Kirk said, taking a half-step back and letting Lars’s arm fall away. “I’m gonna go dry off.” He walked into the room where they kept all their stuff.

As much as he _wanted_ things to be back to normal between them, forgetting about what happened might take him a little longer.

After a string of poorly attended concerts, the remainder of Metallica’s tour with The Rods and Exciter was cancelled. Rather than go home, they decided to cut their losses and spend the rest of March in London doing whatever they wanted before their gig at The Marquee at the end of the month.

Cliff got to enjoy some independence from the band, meeting up with Scott Ian of Anthrax to buy a new Walkman and check out the shops at Oxford street; but when they were about to board their train they were interrupted by a stern voice.

“Both of you. Stop right there.”

They turned and saw two burly policemen, one bald and middle-aged, the other dark haired and not much older than them. Cliff didn’t like to judge by appearances, but the older cop had the kind of smug, cocky look to him where you just _knew_ he was going to be an asshole.

“What? Are we breaking a law, officers?” Scott asked with a hint of derision.

“Don’t get smart,” snapped the bald one. He flashed his badge. “I’m Officer Brady. Are you boys carrying any illegal substances?”

“No. We’re not,” Scott said.

“Then you won’t mind us taking a look in your bags.”

“This is ridiculous,” Cliff said, not yet handing over his bag. He didn’t have anything on him, luckily, but it was the principle of the thing. They hadn’t done anything wrong. “We’re going to miss our train.”

“You’ve got bigger things to worry about than catching that train,” Officer Brady replied with a chuckle. “Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Up to you.” Cliff and Scott exchanged irritated glances but ultimately handed their bags over.

“There’s a good lad,” Officer Brady said smugly. They watched as the cops rummaged through their things to no avail. It’d almost be funny watching them waste their time like this if they weren’t wasting Cliff and Scott’s time too.

The younger cop zipped Scott’s backpack back up in defeat. He seemed legitimately disappointed by the lack of drugs. Maybe he was hoping for an easy arrest. “Alright, take everything out of your pockets and turn them inside out,” the younger cop said. They resignedly did as they were told. The more they complied, the sooner it would be over, or so they thought. After inspecting the uninteresting contents of their pockets, the cops did a pat-down search. After that proved fruitless, they still weren’t satisfied.

“We don’t have any drugs. We were just trying to go shopping like normal people,” Cliff said exasperatedly.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Officer Brady said then turned to his companion. “Let’s take ‘em back to the station and see if that gets the truth outta them.”

Early that evening, in their temporary London home, Kirk and Lars were dividing up Chinese take-out they’d just picked up. They would’ve waited until they were all there before getting dinner, but James was due back any minute and Cliff was god knows where.

“I wonder why Cliff’s not back yet. It didn’t sound like him and Scott were planning to be out this late,” Kirk said.

“They probably hit the bars or something. Just put his stuff in the fridge.”

As Kirk did that, Lars cracked open a fortune cookie and read it aloud. “ ‘You are admired by everyone for your talent and ability’. Huh. That’s nice of them to say”.

“Bullshit, it does not say that” Kirk said amusedly as he snatched the little piece of paper from Lars.

“Read it yourself!” Lars said, leaning back against the counter and eating the cookie. It did indeed say that.

“Geez that’s not even a fortune, that’s just kissing your ass. Do another one.”

“Do one with me,” Lars said, handing a cookie to Kirk. They opened them at the same time.

“What does yours say?” Kirk asked.

“’The smart thing to do is to begin trusting your intuitions.’ Hm.” Lars appeared to be mulling that advice over in his head. “How about you?”

“It says: I am being held prisoner in a fortune cookie factory. Send help.”

“Very funny. What’s it really say?”

“That’s what it says!”

Lars went to swipe it from Kirk’s hand but wasn’t quick enough. Kirk held it up in the air, laughing as Lars grabbed his wrist and tried to wrestle it from his hand. Lars ended up right up against him as he backed Kirk into the fridge. They struggled against each other as Lars pinned Kirk’s raised arm to the fridge. Kirk still somehow managed to keep the fortune _just_ out of reach, as if to egg him on.

Playing dirty, Lars tickled Kirk’s exposed side, forcing his arm down, and in that split second, Lars snatched it. As their laughter subsided Kirk was left to notice how fast his heart was beating.

“‘Man’s mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions,’ ” Lars read. “…That’s deep.”

They heard the jangling of keys followed by the front door opening. “Hey,” James said as he entered. He was back from the video store just in time.

“What movies did you get? Did they have Boogeymen II?” Kirk called from the kitchen

“No, but I got four we can choose from.” James started showing them his haul, but they were startled by an aggressively loud banging at their door.

“Who’s that?” James asked.

“No idea,” Kirk replied. “Maybe Cliff lost his key again. He’s still not back yet.” They all went to see what the commotion was about.

As James opened the door, Kirk’s pulse jumped at the sight of six police officers, three on either side of Cliff.

“Police,” said one of the officers as they showed their badges, like that wasn’t obvious.

“Sorry, man,” Cliff said in a small voice.

“I’m Officer Randall. Your friend here was arrested under suspicion of possessing a controlled substance. At the station we found unidentified pills on his person. We’re here to make sure he’s not hiding any more drugs on the property. Officer Campbell here will get your names and details while the rest of us search the premises.”

“You can’t just barge into our house when we haven’t done anything illegal,” Lars said then looked at James. “Can they?” James shrugged.

Kirk was pretty sure there wasn’t anything in the house that could get them in trouble, but because he couldn’t be certain, he didn’t want to let cops inside either if he could avoid it.

“We sure can, unless you want to get charged with obstructing a police officer,” said Officer Randall. It was hard to argue with that, even if it was probably bullshit. “So what’ll it be?”

“…Fuck it, just let them in.” James resignedly opened the door wider for them to step inside. While Officer Campbell wrote their names down and asked lots of questions, the rest of the cops emptied drawers, flipped over mattresses and cushions, and rifled through their dirty clothes. They made a worse mess of the place than the band ever could. When Officer Campbell was done asking questions, he joined in.

Cliff filled everyone in on what had happened to him and Scott. Apparently, the unidentified pills were just allergy medication Cliff kept in his inner jacket pocket. It was clear that these cops were unprofessional, from the way they treated Cliff and from the snide jokes they were making to each other as they searched the house.

“There’s enough porno in this house for them to open up their own shop,” Randall said disgustedly as he emerged from James’s room. This just made the band laugh, which Randall didn’t like much. “You think being a degenerate is funny?”

“Uh, yeah,” James replied matter-of-factly, making the rest of them laugh more. Randall just muttered something under his breath about them being smartasses and moved onto Lars’s room.

“Hey uh, how about we go sit down? It’s not like we need to be here watching the entire time,” Lars said with sudden unease in his voice. Maybe he had drugs in his room after all and watching the search was getting to him.

“Nah, I want to watch to make sure they don’t break anything… or plant drugs in our house themselves,” Cliff said.

“Come on, they wouldn’t do that. You’re getting paranoid,” Lars replied.

“After the day I’ve had, I wouldn’t put it past them,” Cliff said stubbornly, folding his arms. “I’m staying right here.”

Lars didn’t argue, but the way he fidgeted as they rifled through his things made it seem even more like something was up. Kirk would ask, but it wasn’t as if they could talk freely right now. Hopefully whatever it was wouldn’t be found. They could do without the drama of Lars having to go to court over something dumb like this.

“Look what we have here,” Randall said to his companion as he held up a dirty magazine he found under Lars’s bed. As Kirk processed the image on the cover—two naked men embracing like lovers—he realised that this must’ve been what Lars was so worried about them finding. “Looks like this one bats for the other team,” Randall mocked. Lars looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“You’re gay?” James asked in disbelief.

“No! that’s not even mine,” he said defensively.

“Then how’d it get in your room?” James asked, clearly not buying it.

“I don’t know! I…” Watching Lars struggle for the words that could get him out of this was painful. It almost felt like Kirk was watching his younger self. Though he hadn’t been in this exact situation, he knew what it felt like to be accused of liking men before he was ready to accept that part of himself; and it didn’t feel good. He had to do something. Anything.

“I put it there,” Kirk said. Suddenly everyone’s eyes were on him, but nobody looked more shocked than Lars. “It was just a dumb prank. When I saw it at the store I thought it’d be funny. I was gonna send one of you guys to look for something in Lars’s room and have you stumble across it, but the cops beat me to it.”

Would anyone believe that? Kirk wondered in the uncomfortably long seconds before anyone reacted.

“Asshole,” Lars said, giving him a tiny shove and breaking the tension in the room. Lars could try and sound pissed at him, but Kirk could sense the relief in his voice.

“I gotta admit, you really had me there for a second,” James said to Kirk.

“Me too,” Cliff added. “I mean, it’d make sense.”

“No it fucking wouldn’t,” Lars shot back indignantly.

“Whatever, chill out, man,” Cliff said, unphased.

Lars sighed and leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. They were going to be here a while.

After the search and the testing of Cliff’s allergy pills turned up nothing and the cops left without apology, the guys reheated their cold dinners and watched movies for the rest of the night. James had managed to pick four separate movies that Kirk had already seen. However, it didn’t matter because he found himself only half paying attention anyway.

Since the incident with the magazine earlier, Lars barely even looked at him if he could avoid it. It was an understandably awkward position Kirk had put him in. By covering for him he’d shown that he saw right through the excuses Lars was making. He briefly wondered if he’d done the right thing, but he was pretty sure he had. There was no way James and Cliff were about to believe that gay porn just magic-ed itself into his room; and Lars would probably prefer one person knowing his secret instead of three. Not to mention it was a secret Kirk pretty much knew already. The only difference was that now he had confirmation.

He felt bad for Lars because he cared about him as a friend and he empathised with what he was going through, but there was more on his mind than that. He thought he’d go to bed and forget about it, but instead wound up lying awake thinking about everything.

Kirk could admit he had _some_ attraction to Lars. That much was obvious from the moment he kissed him. But that didn’t have to be a big deal or mean anything. He found people attractive all the time, many of which he wouldn’t even think twice about after touring took the band to the next city. However, he and Lars’s lives were bound together by Metallica, making this a unique situation. Unlike some random groupie, or even a partner, he couldn’t just choose to never see him again if things went south. In fact, these days he’d be hard pressed to get a _day_ away from Lars. That was why he was gonna just let it be and trust that he would forget about it with time.

He wondered how easy that would be when they were around each other endlessly, which made him think back to crushes he had in school. He liked the same boy all the way through junior high and the same girl all through high school. He doubted he was ever even on their radar, but that didn’t stop his feelings, even when it sucked. He fell hard back then. So hard that no longer having to see their faces at school was the only thing which let him move on. Back then he was just some weirdo loser that girls didn’t look at twice. Now he was that same weirdo loser but in a band, and girls loved that, apparently. He’d never completely understand it.

Nowadays when he liked someone, he was more normal about it. It was no longer the drawn-out and all-consuming thing it’d been in his teens. He was pretty sure he’d grown out of that. He’d had several girlfriends now, and while he’d liked each of them a lot, he didn’t feel like a lovesick teenager.

There was a small chance maturity had nothing to do with it. It was possible his lifestyle just didn’t allow for that kind of intensity anymore. He was always busy and never in the same place for long. He was rarely able to devote the time to his relationships that they deserved.

If it ever turned out he hadn’t truly grown out of his old ways, considering how the only people he saw with any regularity were his bandmates, catching feelings for one of them would be a Pandora box best kept shut. For that reason, the thought of feeling anything for Lars was worrying. Though it wasn’t exactly a rational fear, because whatever he felt for Lars, it wasn’t at that level. He’d be hesitant to even call it a crush. But feeling sure of himself was difficult. Metallica was the best thing that ever happened to him and he didn’t want anything to fuck it up.

A soft knock at his bedroom door jolted him from his thoughts. “Hey man, are you awake?” Lars said quietly through the door.

Kirk sat up in bed. “Uh, yeah, Come in.”

Lars sheepishly entered the room, closing the door behind him and standing before Kirk. “I um, I just wanted to say thanks for before. You know.”

“Hey, no problem. I didn’t even know if anyone would believe me, but I’m glad I could help.” There was a silence, which was only awkward because of how obviously uncomfortable Lars was with the whole topic. Kirk waited for Lars to say something else, but he didn’t, so Kirk spoke instead. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’ll listen. I’m not gonna judge you, dude.”

Lars exhaled a tense breath and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Begin anywhere,” Kirk said. Lars cautiously sat on the edge of the bed, half facing away from him.

“…So, you’re like, bisexual, right?”

“I wasn’t sure whether any of you knew,” he replied, a little shy. He’d thought Lars and the others might’ve suspected, given the occasional rumours that followed him. But the certainty in Lars’s voice was what surprised him. Maybe his enjoyment of kissing him had been that obvious. He flushed a bit at the thought. The memory was hazy but he didn’t think he’d given himself away as much as Lars had.

“I’ve seen you go off with guys a couple times at parties. With how you acted around each other and the rumours I’ve heard, I kinda put two and two together.”

“Oh.” Kirk felt uncomfortably exposed yet relieved at the same time. “…Do James and Cliff know?”

Lars shrugged. “Beats me. They’ve never said anything. I’ve never said anything to them.”

It was weird to be having this conversation with Lars, but he _had_ always wondered whether the rest of the band believed what people said about him, and it’d never been the sort of thing he could just ask. There was something nice about being able to talk about this stuff openly after knowing each other all this time, even if it was awkward as hell.

“How did you know you were really bisexual and not just confused or something?” Lars asked. He clearly wasn’t just asking to get to know him.

“Is that what you’re wondering about yourself?”

“…Maybe?” he forced out without elaborating.

“I think if you’re getting hard kissing me and you’re looking at gay porn, you’re probably not straight.” Kirk could have been less blunt, but he figured he needed to hear it.

“When we made out barely even counts, dude. I was so drunk I probably could’ve gotten horny kissing anything with a heartbeat.”

“…And the magazine the cops found?”

Lars sighed tensely. The conversation was obviously taxing him. “I’ve been having thoughts about what it would be like to you know, fuck a man. But doesn’t every guy think about that at least once?”

“I’m sure it crosses their mind,” Kirk said as he tried to think of how else to respond to that.

“I think everyone’s at least a _bit_ curious about what it’s like to go gay. They’d say they’re not but they’d be lying. I wanted to know if I was just curious or if it was more than that. That’s why I bought it.”

“Did it help?”

“I’m even more confused than I was before. It kinda sucks.”

“You’re probably overthinking it. You could try and see how you feel about it in real life? I saw a gay bar not that far from here.”

“I couldn’t. Not with some guy I don’t even know. I fuck chicks I don’t know, but this is different. It’s scary. It’s like losing my V-plates all over again. Plus, I wouldn’t want to lead some gay guy on if it turns out I’m not even into dudes.”

“Yeah. That’s difficult,” Kirk said, unsure of what else to suggest.

In the silence that followed, Lars looked tense and awkward, like there was still something he was struggling to get out. What more could there possibly be? “What?” Kirk said when Lars finally looked at him.

“Would you help me?” Lars blurted out. Kirk thought he _was_ helping. Then it dawned on him what Lars really meant.

“You mean…” He tried to ignore how his heart raced. If everything were simple, he’d have no problem doing what Lars wanted of him. But everything wasn’t simple, it was never going to be simple, not until the day Metallica breaks up, which was a day that would hopefully never come. “That sounds like a bad idea,” Kirk said.

“I know,” Lars said in a small voice. He sounded disheartened, but not like he hadn’t been expecting that response. Kirk felt a small pang of regret. “But is it _really_ so bad?” Lars reasoned. “It’s not like I’m asking you to marry me, I’m not even asking you to go all the way. Just far enough that I can get an idea of if I’m actually into it. Afterwards we can pretend it never even happened.”

“Would we really be able to?” Kirk asked. He could see his point, but the whole situation seemed too messy, too much that could go wrong.

“What? Are you scared you’re gonna fall in love with me?”

“Shut up.” Kirk kicked him with his blanketed foot. Lars just laughed. “I just mean, we’re friends, I don’t want things to get weird or change. Metallica’s just starting to get somewhere, or at least it felt like we were for a while. I don’t want to do anything that could put that at risk.”

Lars nodded understandingly, putting his hand up in front of him as if to say he got the message. “Kirk, it’s fine. If you don’t want to do it then just forget about it.”

“I—”

“Anyway, I should get to bed. It’s getting late.” He stood up, clearly a bit embarrassed. “Thanks for talking to me. I doubt any of the other guys would be as cool about this as you.”

Kirk looked up at him, surprised he was making such a quick exit after dropping a bomb like practically asking him to sleep with him. He supposed it was understandable. “Anytime…”

“Uh, can you do me a favour?” Lars asked before opening the door to let himself out.

“Yes?”

“Don’t tell anyone anything I said to you tonight.”

“Sure thing.”

“You’re the best, man.”

Kirk watched as Lars left. As he sat there he couldn’t help but feel misunderstood.

_‘If you don’t want to, then just forget about It’_

It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to. But there wasn’t any point explaining that.

Really, he should feel good about the fact that he was thinking with his head rather than his dick, but he still couldn’t sleep. If anything, the conversation just made him more restless.

After a long while of tossing and turning, he slid his hand into his pants and half-heartedly touched himself through his underwear. He wasn’t even horny but sometimes rubbing one out helped him sleep when nothing else would.

He wrapped his hand around his cock and slowly jerked until he could feel himself getting hard.

Him and the guys had all accumulated a collection of European porn during their stay. Kirk could get off to that like he usually did, if he wanted, but there was one fantasy that crept up on him in these moments which he’d been keeping at bay for a month.

Ever since kissing Lars, there was a small but insistent part of him that wanted more. Even if he mostly only admitted that to himself in moments like these. As much as he denied himself—in thought and in action—that desire never fully went away. Previously when his thoughts strayed to Lars when he was jerking off, he’d force himself to think of something else. It seemed like the right thing to do considering the reality of their relationship.

Maybe he wasn’t thinking straight from sheer overtiredness, but after their conversation he felt less obligation to police his own fantasies. If Lars thought it would be ok for them to hook up for real and was seemingly unbothered by what could go wrong, then it must be ok for Kirk to at least go there in his mind—which crosses considerably less lines than doing it in real life.

He imagined them as they were at that party in Switzerland, Lars straddling his lap and kissing him as he sat back on the couch. He still remembered exactly how Lars’s lips felt, how he could feel Lars’s erection as he pressed their bodies together. Except in his fantasy they didn’t have to be surrounded by gawking friends and strangers anymore.

Kirk imagined how he would slowly unzip Lars’s tight, tight jeans, take him in his hand and jerk him off. He’d seen Lars have sex enough times on the tour bus to know exactly how he would sound as he moaned in relief, finally getting the touch he was desperate for. Similarly, it wasn’t hard at all for him to picture what Lars would look like needily thrusting into his closed fist, rock-hard. He kinda hated how hot he knew it would be, and how it would be even hotter if Lars got so worked up that he laid Kirk down on the couch and fucked him.

His body shivered with pleasure at that thought of Lars stretching him, filling him deep. Suddenly, he was so damn close. He slowed his strokes on himself to try and savour the sensation as he teetered at the edge with nothing but the image of Lars thrusting into him. He didn’t last long.

He came with an almost frightening intensity, leaving him staring at his ceiling, wide eyed and stunned. _So that’s what that was like_ , he thought as his breath slowly returned to normal and the lingering pulses of pleasure subsided.

Probably shouldn’t do that again…


End file.
